


Thank God There Was No Mistletoe

by maxcellwire



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: APH Rare Pair Week 2015, Alternate Universe, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxcellwire/pseuds/maxcellwire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Day 6: Meeting the Family<br/>Arthur is less afraid that Jan won't make a good impression on his family, but rather they won't make a good impression on /him/.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thank God There Was No Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Very Christmassy because I can't wait to go home for the holidays - one week to go!!
> 
> James is Scotland  
> Owain is Wales  
> Siobhan is Ireland  
> Conor is Northern Ireland

Arthur stood before his front door, wringing his hands as he thought of what he was meant to say to his….boyfriend. The word didn’t seem right, since the man before him was hardly a boy and would refuse to do any of the lovey-dovey shit that Arthur’s teenage sweethearts had done, but there was no other way to describe him really. He’d found it difficult enough explaining to his family that he was finally bringing somebody else to their Christmas dinner, let alone explaining _exactly_ what sort of relationship they had.

“My family are quite traditional, you know,” he began to say, looking away from the other at the wreath that graced the door, holly twined around the brass knocker. “They have a certain way of doing things, and Mum’ll get upset if we don’t do it that way, so no funny business, alright?”

“I know how to behave properly, Arthur,” Jan muttered, stamping out his cigarette and adjusting his jacket.

“I know you do, it’s just...I’m just nervous, okay?”

If Arthur hadn’t known him so well, he wouldn’t have caught the minute changes on Jan’s face. But there was that little twitch at the corner of his mouth that said he was concerned but didn’t want to voice it, and his eyes were trained on Arthur’s face, watching him intently.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, but…” Arthur sighed wearily, “I’m just a bit worried you won’t like them.”

“I thought you were worried that _they_ wouldn’t like _me_ ,” Jan said with a wry smile.

“Well, while it’d be ideal if they liked you, I don’t really give a damn what they think. But my family can seem a bit mismatched to an outsider, so I’ve just got to be sure.”

“If you’re worried that I’m going to leave you because your family are strange, then you’re worrying over nothing. Can we go inside now? My fingers are going to drop off.”

“Should’ve worn gloves, like I told you,” Arthur huffed, all the breath leaving his lungs as he prepared himself mentally. He felt Jan’s hand at the small of his back, a simple gesture but comforting none the least, and knocked on the door sharply.

It swung open immediately, revealing the beaming face of Arthur’s youngest brother, Peter, whose gleeful expression (for once) didn’t drop at the sight of Arthur. His bright blue eyes were wide as saucers, and he had an unknown colourful substance smeared across his mouth.

“Merry Christmas, Arthur! You won’t believe how many presents are under the tree. And dinner smells _soooo_ good and-” he cried, and Arthur couldn’t help but smile.

“Merry Christmas to you, Peter. May we come in?”

It was then that Peter noticed the tall man looming behind Arthur and he cowed slightly, growing silent and nodding.

“Sure.”

He left the door open and ran back into the living room.

Arthur and Jan stepped into the hallway, slipping off their shoes and hanging up their coats on the crowded hooks. There was music coming from the living room, the usual cheesy Christmas tunes, and the sound of conversation and laughter. Most likely everybody was already here, since Arthur was almost always the last to arrive. (That position had previously been filled by his older brother James, but his husband was very fussy about making a good impression, and he still made sure they were always on time to meet the family, even five years down the line. Yet they were some reason always late to meet Arthur….)

“Arthur, dear, is that you?” his mother called from the kitchen. “I’ll be out in a second, I just need to get the veg on the god!”

“No need to rush, Mum,” Arthur replied as he made for the kitchen, Jan trailing behind him. His mother was standing in there with her hands, clad in oven gloves, resting firmly on her hips, staring down the oven. None of the Kirklands were especially good cooks; in fact, most of them were very _bad_ , with Annette being the only one to ever make a complete meal without burning a single bit of it. It was something of a legend in their household.

When she turned and saw him in the hallway, she rushed towards him, opening her arms for a hug.

“Oh, Arthur, it’s so wonderful to see you! You always leave it too long to come and visit us.”

Arthur laughed softly and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Merry Christmas, Mum.”

“And a very merry Christmas to you, too!” She stepped back, hands still holding onto his arms, and looked up. “Have you grown again, young man?”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Mum, I’m twenty-three. I think I’ve stopped growing for now.”

“Well, you never know. I’m sure you weren’t this much taller than your old Mum last time I saw you. Oh! And this must be Jan.” Arthur moved to the side as she squished past him, holding her arms out to Jan as well. He forced a smile and returned her hug stiffly, Arthur hiding his laugh with a cough at the expression on his face. “My, you’re tall, aren’t you? You just about dwarf little Arthur!”

“So one second I was too tall, the next I’m short…” Arthur muttered darkly as Jan nodded.

“You’ll have to tell me all about yourself later, my dear, but I’m very busy with the dinner at the moment. Arthur, love, could you ask Owain if he’ll come in here and help me with the sauces. He’ll only make a fuss if I get them wrong like last year.” She waved them out of the kitchen with a tea towel and they were ushered into the living room.

Naturally it had been decorated with the usual ornaments, bright red tinsel adorning every picture frame and lights hanging in the window. The tree sparkled in the corner of the room, decorations hung on it that had been made by the children when they were much younger, or collected from various holiday destinations over time. It was an eclectic mix, it was fair to say, but it felt like home. Beneath the tree were stacks of presents, wrapped in various different colours and patterns of paper, some a fair amount neater than most. The floor was strewn with toys that had already been opened, mostly clustered around where Peter was seated right in the centre of the carpet, happily playing with some new game.

Arthur’s various relatives were mostly sprawled across the sofas, chatting amongst each other. James was sitting on the end, already on his second bottle of beer, talking with their father about the latest series of Doctor Who and the trailer for the afternoon’s Christmas special. James’ husband, Francis, was curled in James lap reading a cooking magazine, and he winked at Arthur when he caught his eye. On the other sofa were sat his sister Siobhan and brother Conor, both with flaming red hair and cheeky grins. Their heads were bent together, eyes flickering over to the other sofa every now and again, and Arthur didn’t even want to think about what they might be planning.

“There are a lot of people here,” Jan noted quietly. “I hope there’s enough room for everyone.”

“We manage most years. Siobhan’s brought a couple of suitors over a few times, and they’ve managed to squish, so I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Arthur assured him, patting his arm as he led him over to the armchair in the corner. It was mostly hidden behind the branches of the Christmas tree, meaning he could get away with pushing Jan into it and settling on his lap, pulling a book from the shelf beside him to distract him from his rumbling stomach.

Unfortunately, Francis had a keen eye for these sorts of things, and since he’d enjoyed taking the mick out of Arthur since they were children, he just _had_ to comment.

“My, it’s about time petit Arthur found a special someone, hmm?” he remarked, drawing James’ attention to the couple in the corner. “They haven’t even been here five minutes and they’re already getting cosy together.”

Arthur pretended he couldn’t hear him as the blush crept up his neck, and he felt Jan’s arm tighten around his back.

“Yeah, c’mon, Artie, introduce us to your boy-toy then,” James added, grinning and taking another swig of his drink. Even the two redheads stopped their plotting, intrigued by the gossip that was threatening to take place.

“Well, everybody,” Arthur began, gulping as he saw everybody focussed on him. He was hoping that this situation would be a little more comfortable, but alas, he was here now. He’d just have to put up with it, “This is my boyfriend, Jan. He’s from the Netherlands and we met at uni. That’s all.”

“Oh, non, petit, that is _not_ all. Do you expect us to be satisfied with just that?” Francis’ voice slid through the air, grating on Arthur’s ears.

“What else is there to say? I’d rather not discuss the intimacies of our relationship with everyone in the family, thank you very much.”

“’Intimacies?!’” Siobhan exclaimed, bursting into laughter. Arthur’s cheeks felt furiously hot, and he huffed before turning back to his book.

“I see what you mean,” Jan said dryly as the group started bickering about something else. “It must be something of a hassle.”

Arthur shrugged.

“It’s not usually that bad, it’s just because this is a bit of a change from the usual. It wasn’t great growing up, though, having so many children in the house at one time. A nightmare, actually. I have no idea how my parents coped.”

“At least Peter seems to have the house more to himself.”

“Yeah, it’s only him and Conor left at home, now. Siobhan’s working in Dublin, Owain’s studying for his PhD, and James spends all his time having sex with Francis or something equally disgusting.”

“I heard that,” James called.

“And it’s true,” Francis added, leaning up to kiss his husband. Peter screwed up his nose and turned his back to them, Conor making a retching sound as he bent over the arm of the sofa.

Owain appeared in the doorway just then, an apron declaring ‘Kiss the Cook’ tied around his waist. James gave a low whistle and received a warning glance from his brother.

“Mum says that everybody should go and sit at the table now, and Dad needs to come and help in the kitchen.”

Their father grumbled as he eased himself off the sofa with a creak, the rest of them filing into the dining room. It was a bit of a squash trying to seat all ten of them around the dining table, but they managed eventually, even if they were going to stick their elbows in their neighbour’s dinner. Jan looked around the room curiously, noting the photos of the family gracing the walls, the icy patterns keeping in at the edge of the windows slowly melting away as the room was filled with warmth.

“Do you approve of my family’s interior design?” Arthur asked with a smile when he noticed, leaning closer to Jan so that nobody would eavesdrop.

“It’s not bad. You make good use of space. The pictures are unnecessary but I can also understand why they’re there.”

Arthur patted his leg.

“How diplomatic of you.”

The bowls of food were gradually brought in and laid in the centre of the table, everybody present now distracted by the mouth-watering smells and sights in front of them. There was the turkey surrounded by roasted potatoes and parsnips, bowls full of vegetables, a gravy boat full to the brim alongside the bread sauce and cranberry and Yorkshire puddings that were only slightly overcooked. Arthur licked his lips subconsciously, excited for the meal ahead.

They were only allowed to start eating once their mother had sat at the head of the table, and there was a manic rush for the bowls as each of the hungry siblings fought to scoop as much food on their plates as possible, years of competing for food giving them lethal elbowing techniques. Francis huffed as James dumped twice the expected amount of vegetables on his plate, Siobhan was pretending she had no idea where half the turkey breast had gone, and Owain was smothering everything on his plate with bread sauce. As Arthur finally received the potatoes, he turned to Jan, who was looking a bit bemused by it all.

“Roasties?” he asked, holding one out to him on a spoon. Jan nodded. Silently.

At last everybody’s plates were filled, and they dug in immediately, the room ringing with exclamations of delight and praise.

“It’s sooo good!” Peter shouted through a mouthful of Yorkshire pudding, receiving a flick on the ear from his eldest sibling. “What? It is!”

“So tell me, Jan, how did you and Arthur meet?” his mother asked, once everybody had settled into eating at a (fairly) normal pace.

“We met at university. We happened to be taking one of the same modules and we had to work on a group project. He was much more efficient about it than everybody else and that made me happy.”

James snorted.

“That’s even less romantic than when Francis and I met,” he laughed.

“Excusez-moi, I have never had an unromantic moment in my life,” Francis responded haughtily. “Any perceived faults in our meeting are yours alone.”

“What course were you studying?” Annette continued.

“Economics and Politics.”

“Oh, so nothing like Arthur then! How on earth did you end up in the same module?”

“It was a module on European Literature. I fancied a break from all the maths.”

“I’m not surprised, all those sums you have to do! I’ve always hated maths, even since I was a little girl. Arthur didn’t like it that much either, always had his head buried in a book, that one…” She continued rambling on about Arthur’s childhood, the young blond trying to tune it out and instead focus on not dripping gravy down his chin. He’d known this would happen – his Mum was so sentimental that she was always reflecting on their childhoods, getting out pictures to show random strangers in the street. Now that she was finally able to gush over how ‘cherubic and adorable he was as a child, the little lamb’ he knew she’d never have enough. However he was pretty sure that Jan didn’t care one bit, and was only nodding out of politeness. He squeezed his hand under the table, biting his lip at the responding touch.

“So, what are you doing now, Jan?” his father interjected, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Something with finance, I presume? Banking, perhaps?”

“Well, sort of. I’m actually the treasurer for a local charity, so I have to go through and budget any events we put on, evaluate products that we sell and that sort of thing.”

“Oh.” Arthur smirked slightly, knowing his father had been prepared to go on a long rant about selfish bankers and the economic crash. Having found out that Jan was dedicating his skills to a worthier cause would at least shut him up for a bit.

“Oh, isn’t that _lovely_?” His mother exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “I’m so proud of you both, you know? Such successful young men.” Arthur wouldn’t exactly consider his job working as a librarian a total success, but he supposed it wasn’t that bad.

Satisfied that they’d made a good impression and the conversation had seemingly changed to their Aunt’s sixtieth birthday next month, Arthur returned his focus to his meal. So it’s now wonder, then, that he was surprised when Peter interrupted to ask,

“So…is it Interrogate Jan Time yet? Because I wanna know if it’s true that you can do drugs in Amsterdam. Is it?”

“Peter!” His parents – and Arthur – cried over the sound of his siblings’ laughter.

Jan’s lips curved into a smile.

“Well, only sometimes. They’re quite strict about it, you see, but I wouldn’t tell your mother if you ever go there.”

Arthur glared at him, kicking him beneath the tablecloth. Jan hid his grin with a mouthful of cabbage.

“Sounds like my kinda guy,” James remarked, waving his glass of sherry at him. “What about those flowers, eh? Tulips, right?”

“Yes, I suppose they’re very beautiful,” Jan said, brows knitting together in confusion.

“You should buy some for Arthur,” Conor interjected. “He loves flowers, you know. If you get him flowers, he’ll do anything for you. And I mean _anything_.”

“Conor!” Arthur answered hotly, his mother scolding him uselessly.

 “Look at Arthur’s rosy cheeks, the poor _lapin_ is embarrassed!” Francis sung.

“Really? Must we do this?” Arthur asked, voice edging on exasperated as he grinned falsely at them all. The effect was somewhat exaggerated by the coloured paper hat balanced atop his head. “Can’t we just, I don’t know, eat food and make merry? Must you all be arseholes?”

“Language, Arthur,” his father warned, Owain sniggering in the corner.

“Come on, Arthur, it’s just a bit of fun,” Siobhan said, “We’ll leave you alone until Jan goes home, okay? But then you have to promise to tell us _everything_.”

Christ. He knew this had been a bad idea. What had possessed him to bring Jan home to meet his family? His siblings were always teasing him about everything, so this was like an extra Christmas gift for them. If it had just been his mother and father it would have been fine, perhaps a bit embarrassing but mostly normal. But no, of course his siblings had to poke their noses into everything, and then there was that awful Francis…

Arthur felt a warm hand on his shoulder, Jan leaning down to murmur in his ear.

“Stop worrying, everything’s fine.”

“No, it’s not fine.”

“It _is_. Listen: the last time I brought someone back to my family, my sister asked them to pose for a nude modelling session and my brother wouldn’t stop asking about their financial assets. It could be worse.”

“Really?” Arthur laughed quietly, pulling back, and Jan nodded.

“What just happened?” Owain asked suspiciously.

“No idea,” the rest of the family chorused, looking slightly less entertained now that Arthur and Jan seemed far too happy just talking between themselves.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Siobhan addressed them, “fancy sharing your jokes?”

“You wouldn’t understand them,” Arthur responded, letting Jan press a very tentative kiss to his cheek. He knew how much it took for Jan to be affectionate with him in public – people said that _Arthur_ was frigid, but compared to Jan he was the most openly loving man in the world. The taller man had never been very good with his feelings, preferring to remain stoic, and the fact that he was putting on a bit of a show to make Arthur feel more comfortable touched his heart.

Thankfully, the rest of the meal passed in relative peace. They still joked across the table, but now the subject had changed to Owain’s thesis subject (“Really, Owen, ancient Welsh folklore? What’s the point in that?” “That’s basically what Arthur did, and you didn’t complain when _he_ did it!” “That’s because he wasn’t dedicating his entire life to it, you dolt.”) and Connor’s first date with a girl from college, whom he insisted wasn’t that important but he blushed whenever her name was mentioned.

In fact, the topic of Arthur and Jan’s relationship wasn’t mentioned again at all until later in the evening, when they were sat around in the living room having opened all their presents. Arthur was admiring his new collection of punk rock vinyls and almost crying with joy over them, clutching them to his chest and gushing about how excited he was to play them when he got home, when Jan wrapped his arms around him. Surprised by the uncharacteristic gesture, Arthur almost dropped his new babies, and only just restrained himself from yelping at the sudden touch, not wanting to draw his family’s attention lest they started teasing again.

“Something up?” he whispered, Jan’s chin resting on his shoulder.

“No. Your family are nice.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Am not. They’re lively, it’s nice. I can imagine you growing up here with all of them. It would’ve been nice to see that.”

“I think you’ve had too much sherry, you’re being remarkably open this evening.”

Jan laughed and hid his face in Arthur’s shoulder. The smaller man reached up his arm to pat Jan’s head softly.

“Ah l’amour, c’est beau,” Francis murmured from his seat on the sofa, stroking his hands through a sleeping James’ hair.

Arthur closed his eyes without responding, leaning back to rest his head against Jan’s, hands settling on the others’ and absently drawing patterns on his skin. The music had been turned down, the noise from the TV buzzing slightly over the quiet words of the family. Everyone was settling down for the evening, full from the meal and the box of chocolates open on the table, and the lights on the tree twinkled beside them.

“Yeah, I suppose this is quite nice,” Arthur agreed at last. “It could’ve been worse.”

“It could’ve been a lot worse. By what you were saying, I was kind of expecting it to be.”

“What, you imagined my parents were going to force-feed you burnt potatoes and grill you on your academic credentials?”

“One has to be prepared for every eventuality, of course.”

“Of course.” Arthur smiled drowsily. He could feel himself slipping into the typical Christmas food coma that followed the enormous meal and the gratuitous alcohol afterwards.

“Zalig Kerstfeest, Arthur.”

“Mm, Merry Christmas, Jan.”

**Author's Note:**

> Zalig Kerstfeest is apparently one of multiple ways to say Merry Christmas in Dutch


End file.
